#clearly all my stuff is foundations of decay these days 🙈🙈

[padfootastic]

💬!

💭!!

Pleaseeee!💕💫

hello friend! thank u for the ask <3 these are some tough questions hehe

💬 what dialogue are you most proud of?

the conversation between harry, ron, and hermione in the latest FoD chapter is def something i’m v proud of! another bit is this, between sirius & oscar (i think i posted the snippet awhile ago? but it still makes me very happy haha)

I don’t deserve that, Mr. Armitage, not his love nor the work he’s put in,” Sirius replied tiredly. He’d had years, decades, to think about this. He doesn’t know how he’d lucked out not once, but twice to deserve Potter men who loved with their entire hearts in his life. Not just love, but who’ve forgiven Sirius any transgression he’s made (of which there’s quite a few) without a single few.

“I think that’s a bit unfair, Mr. Black,” was the chiding reply and it took him a while to cut through the melancholy and realise that Oscar was being entirely serious in his censure of him. He looked at him, nonplussed.

“That boy right there—I’ve been working with him for quite some time now and he’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met. I’ll admit, at first I didn’t think much of him..but then who would, of a fifteen year old boy? That quickly turned around after just the first meeting though, when I saw grit and determination the likes of which I haven’t even in brown men.”

“And if I may, if there’s anything I’ve learnt in all these decades, it’s that love isn’t deserved. It merely is, and all we can do, every single day, is honor it. Try and be someone worthy of it. Can you honestly tell me you think you’ve deserved the love you’ve received in the past?”

Warm hazel eyes, filled with love and protectiveness and strength, flashed in his mind. ‘You’ll always have me, Si’. (Lies, lies, lies, he left, didn’t he, damned lies)

The warmth of a Potter Christmas, Effie and Flea’s love displayed in abundance, not a second where he felt alone.

Another set of emerald green, equally protective, equally loving, twice as understanding.

The answer was crystal clear in Sirius’ mind. No, never. He didn’t even have to voice it for Oscar to continue.

“But did that ever stop you from accepting it as the gift it was? From loving them in return?”

And just like that, Sirius understood what the man was trying to tell him. It was eerily similar to what James had tried for years, if done in much more sneakily.

(also this bit from a random shopping scene is also v fun.

“Comes with being Harry Potter, I think. Say, what do you think of this one?” Harry held up a slightly large blue shirt.

“I—You—Harry, baby, apple of my eye, that…is not your color. Nor is it your fit. You’re a young, reasonably well built kid. Why must you torture yourself with oversized rags like that?” he lamented, overly dramatically, in Harry’s opinion. It wasn’t that bad.

What do you even mean it’s not my color?” he blinked, confused.

“I mean that this shade of blue should be considered a war crime against your eyes and skin color, love,” Sirius patted his cheek in faux-pity. Harry pushed his hand away with a roll of his eyes. Really?

“You can’t be s—,” he cut himself off abruptly at the lecherous grin that started to grow on his godfathers face and threw his hands up in exasperation, “Fine. Choose what you deem best, I’ll just be sitting there in the corner like a sad loser.” )

💭 what description(s) are you most proud of?

oooh, this one’s tough bc i feel like i’ve written such a variety of scenes in the last few weeks, and i love each and every one of them. but! for this, i’ll choose a bit of yet-to-be-posted portion from my FoD doc. it gives us an insider look at sirius and how he’s doing (spoiler: not great) and just. i’m really big on azkaban causing almost irreparable harm to him that is often overlooked (or worse, not cared about).

Sirius woke up as an unholy cross between man and dog.

His nose was elongated, distinctly snout-like though still covered in skin. His hands had transformed into paws that were pressed against his ears in a futile attempt to block out the screams rattling in his brain. There was a light coat of fur covering his limbs and chest, and he could feel that Padfoot was close, much closer than he usually was.

This state of half-transformation wasn’t entirely new—the first time it had happened was a few weeks after he’d ran away from home and it was terrifying to wake up to a body out of his control. He hadn’t known what was happening and the more he panicked, the worse it became. It had taken James almost potioning him into compliance with his dad’s stock of Calming Draughts before he could turn into a boy once again.

From then, he’d only been in that state a handful of times, for he quickly realised it was triggered by a state of profound mental agony. One could argue that the entirety of Azkaban was an extended period of agony but it was equally true that he’d spent most of his time, and almost all of his nights, as Padfoot. It left him very little time to come to this position.

But this month had been bad. Really, the entire year was like a croquembouche of tragedies, piled on top of each other in a mockery of his ‘freedom’. But it had culminated into this; more and more nights where he woke himself up with his nightmares, body twisted into grotesque mutations, thoughts racing with terror and rage and helpless adrenaline.

He closed his eyes, willing his body to come back to him, forcing his racing mind into submission. Slowly, the feeling returned to his limbs, blood flowing freely through his veins once again, and he knew that his body had returned to him once again. For how long, he had no idea, but it was enough for now.

Sleep was a foregone conclusion at this point. His options were staying here, in his childhood room where the scent of stale sweat and fear permeated the air, or going down, risking his mother and her faithful companion. The latter, however, had the advantage of taking him through the study, where a decanter of Firewhiskey could always be found and it is that incentive, the possibility of some relief, that made his decision for him.

(i am just so obsessed with the idea of sirius losing control of his magic and mind and body, this loss of control physically manifesting in the windows rattling or the air smelling like ozone or this half trasnformation. the tragedy of someone who prizes his control over himself, who has trained himself to be lethal & precise, is now forced to bear this indignity on top of the horror of his imprisonment and betrayal by everyone)

from this ask game